The Highest
by braunschweiger
Summary: Your Majesty, and the life worthy of the title (among other things); after living in secret a reflection on Zelda's future after her coronation; oneshot; Zelink.


Your Majesty.

Frankly, she could get used to it.

It was a title of ancient glory, it seemed, dare she claim archaic. Yet somehow as she strolled the hallways lined glowing lamps and crystal clear portraits of royal past opposed to flickering candles and frames of carefully crafted strokes, she was okay with it. It fit, if you will, because a woman with the ability to walk such paths of legend and greatness required such a title. Paths only photographed on websites with government seals and played with in the imaginations of girls dressed in pink skirts and sequined tiaras, not unlike herself just a few decades previous. Well, that was yesterday.

Yesterday, she was Zelda. Yesterday she walked to the quaint coffee shop just down the street from her apartment and ordered with extra whipped cream. Yesterday she quite grossly snogged her boyfriend in the middle of an ignorant crowd. Yesterday she was the unknown daughter, the hidden sweetheart of Hyrule shaded into a life hidden from the thirsty eyes of the unforgiving public as an average girl living with average people in an average world. But today, oh today she was extraordinary. An extraordinary secret of an extraordinary heir thrown into an extraordinary world.

With an extraordinary title.

A wandering imagination was never her weakness, so she let it trail along with her fingers upon the sage walls and golden silhouettes. She had wondered before what these hallways would feel like when she truly belonged in them, not just longed for. If the weight of Hyrule Castle and its significance would actually fall upon her shoulders the moment she stepped into the overwhelming ballroom. If deep scenes of kings and queens and princes and princesses living their lives of victory and defeat, of love and loss would flutter into the eyes of their newest heir.

This future: it was inevitable but for decades it was the one she had dutifully lived and breathed for, and she had never wished for another one. Not when she was closed off from her life givers for the eternity of her childhood, nor when every decision of her youthful life was to be made by a council of old, stubborn men who knew nothing of Zelda, only the daughter of his Majesty, the King. Even when she was stripped of her proud background and thrown into an unsympathetic society she realized the misery was for the sake of a future rule.

Well, now it was this future.

And she was her Majesty.

This was as future and future got for her she realized. This moment, this exact point in time _was _the future, or the future of the past anyways. What now? Where would these halls and this kingdom take her, to the future beyond the future? And that new title of hers, where would that fall?

When the hallway takes a right bend in not ten steps and a maid with flushed cheeks and chocolate hair presses her head above the load of linens in her arms and catches the eyes of the newest monarch, how will the hushed acknowledgment of, "your Majesty," sound to the addressee? What is the reply from a woman who not twenty-four hours previous had been the girl's equal? How is such a title to be taken with the grace and dignity of an honest majestic ruler?

Then what of when the title is followed by a question? When that northern kingdom just over the exceedingly close border decides to test its power against the fresh leader, how shall she respond when life or death orders are asked for? In a hushed and dusky room surrounded by maps, computers, phones, and pens; and the ink in those pens is awfully permanent. Men in tightened uniforms who understand a whole lot more than she could ever pretend to have heard of ask her thoughts on bombs and bombardments and other "b" words she cares not think about. Yesterday, no such thoughts could have ever reached her but today she has on the tip of her tongue the fate of hundreds and thousands. Today she is required to reply to the demands ending in, "your Majesty."

Yet still the title's beauty is not lost on her, particularly when her prime minister, who has saved her from drowning in her own ignorance more times than she can count on her fingers and toes catches a glance at the row of diamonds newly decorating her left fourth finger. His eyes, eternally wise and infinitely intelligent, grow heavy with understanding and his brows form a troubled curl. He knows _exactly_ what it means and knows even better that there's nothing to be done of it, but that won't cease his questions and pleas that feeds doubt and brings them both to tears. Still, what she takes away from the lecture most is that he, a man her elder in experience and most certainly wisdom still ends his statements with that magnificent title of unmatched authority: "your Majesty."

And she will use that authority to do exactly what the minister warned against because she may be a royal now, but the life she was rudely thrown into was raised by people who spent their own lives with who they loved. No matter his absent background or less-than-desirable reviews from the same board of men who pushed her towards him in the first place, he is going to place that second ring on her finger. Yes, he isn't meant for this, she knows. Their relationship had tumbled before and the new hot story of Sovereign Queen and Hyrulian solider will do nothing in respect to preventing it from happening again. He is a silent and strong man not born for a world of public faces and judging eyes. Someday it will break, their system, and their hours will end with weeping and screaming and leaving and regret. Yet, fortunately for her, that boy is much too obsessed with her to ever consider not returning because if this life is really, truly for her, then dammit he's going to make it his.

She sighs. Your Majesty. Is she your Majesty to him now? When she glides down an ivory carpet in a draped ivory gown in echoing ivory hall and approaches him next to an ivory altar, will she be your Majesty? Previous to all of this, when she fidgets outside the double doors leading to the rest of her life, the attendant with fingers wrapped around the golden handles asks her through a proud smile, "are you ready, your Majesty?" And the woman with a death grip on her elbow who has been her mother when she didn't have one, the same woman who gripped the screaming Queen's hand in birth and brushed aside her sweaty bangs in death. The woman of steel calms herself enough to register the pull of doors and the much greater panic of the golden girl beside her who is now a woman dressed in grace and breath-taking head jewels and she says, "Knock 'em dead, your Majesty," with a wicked smile and sly eyes. When that woman releases her with a kiss and barely tamed tears at the end of the aisle, will the man who takes her hand see himself as marrying the Queen? The Highness? Your Majesty? Or will he pull back the veil and lock his ocean colored eyes shimmering with as many tears as the ocean itself with hers and see the girl he teases relentlessly with the favor returned and the one who he can polish off an entire box of popcorn- the greasily wonderful movie theater butter kind- with in one sitting? He won't see her as tomorrow's woman with duties and responsibilities and troubles beyond any ability to solve. He'll see her as yesterday's woman, only today, who he kisses only after uttering the famous three words that he means beyond comprehension.

Now she winds her lips into a smile. How about, "Would you like to see him, your Majesty?" That's a question she could never say no to as a wiggling peach-skinned infant is dropped into her numb arms with a dusting of flaxen fuzz on his crown and a disgruntled wrinkle in his nose. It's then, when one of her boys is leaning into her shoulder with pure amazement softening his face and her newest reason for life curled into her chest that, "your Majesty," becomes ridiculous to her. It's just so _stupid_. In that moment there is a child laying within her arms, a child that belongs to her and the man she loves more than degrees of the sun. Now, she is a mother. Your Majesty is tomorrow.

"Your Majesty."

She jumps, pressing a hand to her chest and spinning her wide-eyed furrowed-brow face to the man that stands next to her.

A smirk pulls at Link's lips and a deep chuckle sounds in his throat. "I'm terribly sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. Could you sentence me to death for that? Maybe I should sneak away while I can."

"You're just having a blast, aren't you?" Zelda questions with amusing sarcasm but takes his hand and tangles their fingers anyways.

He pulls her closer and sighs in thought. It wasn't a serious question, but he responds seriously. "Yeah, maybe. It's entirely possible I could get used to it."

He's looking forward in contemplation but Zelda is staring at Link with a sure smile gracing her face.

Yeah. They'll be okay.

"Well, I don't know," she chirps and puts a happy hop in her step. "I think I like this whole, 'your Majesty' business. It's very official, very regal; I appreciate its use."

Link, pulled out of his thoughtful haze, grins down in amusement and pulls them both to a halt.

"Oh, well then, as you wish my Queen, your Highness, your Grace, your Majesty," he murmurs while pressing his forehead to hers.

She slides her eyes closed and lets a sigh escape through her nose, humming in approval.

"Say it again."

A tender pressing of lips, "my Queen."

A subtle backward movement, "your Highness."

They're in a different room now, "your Grace."

The door softly clicks behind them, "my Zelda."

She smiles but he makes quick work of covering it.

_A Zelda story, what is this?_

_This originally began as a work of fiction with Zelda in mind but I caved and added their names a couple times hence why just flat out "she" is used so often. _

_This was written close to a year ago but boredom hit me so I edited it in a single night. Therefore, as always, sincere apologies for any mistakes or awkwardness._

_Alrighty, posting to a new community! Hooray! _

_Thanks for reading! _


End file.
